


Born in Sunlight

by SpaceWall



Series: Dawn [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aman (Tolkien), F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fourth Age, Friendship, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Grief/Mourning, Half-Elves, Hope, Loss, M/M, Sons of Elrond - Freeform, The Valar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir come to Aman, and they don't come alone. The choice of the Half-elves is questioned, the House of Finwë pulls together when it is most needed, and several people meet their grandchildren for the first time. A story of family, and love, and hope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This comes with a shoutout to TheAnswer, who asked about Elrond's sons coming to Aman literally a month and a half ago. At least I finally got around to it, right?

“Elrohir is on that boat,” Celebrían announced, suddenly and confidently. The six others standing on the dock- Maedhros, Maglor and Eärendil, Galadriel and Finrod, and of course, Elrond himself, turned to look at her. Before any of them could question the proclamation, she added, “I don’t know how I know, I just do. I don’t know if Elladan is or not, but I can feel Elrohir, very strongly. I don’t know why.”

Finrod muttered something about ‘her mother’s daughter,’ and got an elbow from Galadriel for his troubles. It was a strange welcoming party, but given that they didn’t really know who was on the boat, it seemed appropriate. Maglor and Maedhros were there at Elrond’s request. He wanted to introduce his sons to their other grandfathers. Finrod had come with Galadriel, and Eärendil had just shown up, uninvited, but nobody really minded. If there was even the smallest possibility that his sons had not come, Elrond had wanted his fathers there. All three of them. 

They could see the boat in the distance, but there was little wind that day, and it seemed to be taking forever to come at least within shouting range. Eärendil kept looking over at other boats, as though he was sailing out to meet them. Maedhros kept readjusting his hair, even though it looked absolutely fine, tucking imaginary strands behind his ears. Only Finrod seemed in a good mood. He was trying to entice Maglor into singing a duet with him, though Maglor was having none of it. 

“Come now,” Finrod was saying, “we used to have plenty of fun working together.”

Maglor shook his head. “You used to have fun, I was just bored. And besides, you’ve been playing on your own or with others for ages since. What do you need me for?”

“Well,” Finrod said, “Fingon isn’t nearly as pretty as you are.”

For this effort, he received another elbow, though this time from Maedhros. 

Maedhros, leaving his brother and his cousin to bicker, drifted over to Elrond. He gave Elrond’s arm a gentle squeeze. Elrond, a little comforted, leaned into him. 

“Go stand with your wife,” Maedhros said, releasing Elrond with a gentle shove towards Celebrían. Her hands were clenched with nerves, and she kept running her fingers through her moon-pale hair. The tiniest of breezes caught a strand and drew it away from her. Elrond reached up, and tucked it behind her ear. She turned to him, and grabbed his hand out of the air, pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles before she let him go. 

“What does it feel like? This awareness of yours?” Elrond asked, hoping this question was no overly irritating. 

Celebrían shrugged. “It’s like his mind is… open, like a child’s, or like he’s trying to reach out to someone who’s powerful but untrained. I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone else would be able to feel it. The only reason I can is because he’s my son. It’s- I am without doubt that he’s there. It’s- exhilarating.”

“Hello there!” They both jumped to attention, as they heard Elrohir- Valar, Elrohir- shouting out from the bow of the boat. 

“Hello!” Elrond called back. Both addresses had been in Westron, which had likely been the language Elrohir had been speaking for some time, though Elrond had no use for it himself, on these shores. 

“It’s Elrohir,” Galadriel informed the assembled crowd. 

Elrond considered if it would be appropriate to yell the question that was on everyone’s minds,- where is Elladan- but before the need arose, a second dark haired head appeared in place of Elrohir’s. 

“Greetings!” He called, though unlike his brother he had the presence of mind to offer the address in Sindarin. “if you have any way of speeding the process, we’d be much obliged- the wind seems to almost have ceased.”

“I can help with that!” Eärendil called, and went to work trying to explain with shouting some technical aspect of how to improve how they were angling their sail. 

“An ill omen,” Maedhros whispered, too softly for Elladan and Elrohir to hear. Elrond gave him a scathing look, which at least stopped him from elaborating to a confused looking Finrod. 

With Eärendil’s direction, the ship sped up enough that it was no more than ten minutes before it was at the dock, and its crew was disembarking. There were perhaps twenty-five, thirty elves aboard. There was not, to the great relief of Elrond, any sign of Legolas Thranduillion on board. This meant that, for now, Arwen still lived. Though it had been a surprise that her brothers had sailed before her death, the reason for this became clear soon enough. 

Celeborn jumped from the ship, and into the waiting arms of his wife. The looks of total disdain on Finrod and Celebrían’s face were a perfect match. Maglor immediately looked down, trying to hide his face behind his dark hair, which was still too short for this purpose. Glorfindel and Erestor, along with many of Elrond’s other friends and acquaintances from Rivendell were there, laughing and singing. Unlike his brother, Maedhros made no efforts to hide. It would have been ineffective anyhow. His height and his hair made sure of that, for all that he now had two hands. Glorfindel gave Eärendil a firm slap on the back, and said something that made Elrond’s biological father laugh. But where were the twins?

“I promise there’s a very good explanation for this,” Elladan said, quite nonsensically, and disembarked. Elrond looked up at his son, and discovered that he was holding a child, a girl. If she had been human, Elrond would have place her age at perhaps two years, or less. As an elf, he would have said she was closer to eight. But he was quite sure that she was neither. 

“There had better be,” Celebrían snapped, though there was no real fire in it. She was crying. “And be quick about it!”

“It’s all my fault,” Elrohir said, and from the guilt on his face, Elrond could see it was true. “Her mother was- Elbereth, nana, you would have loved her. Her name was Iswen. She was so strong, could handle horses like she’d been born on one, never had a lick of fear in her, even until the end. She was-“

“She was mortal,” Maedhros said. His expression had been carefully forced into neutral, but his eyes seemed very sad. 

Elrohir nodded, seemingly overcome with tears. Celebrían pulled him close, for the first time in an age, and allowed him to cry. Elrond took the child, who he now realized was asleep, from Elladan so he too could embrace his mother. 

Though Maglor still seemed dedicated to hiding from Celeborn in plain sight, Maedhros approached. He and Elrond looked over the child together. She had inherited much from her father, that was clear. She looked, Elrond thought, very much like Arwen had at her age, which Elrond, now knowing her parentage, placed around four or five. Elrond realized that he didn’t know her name.

“She has Celebrían’s face.” Maedhros murmured. He gifted the sleeping child an open smile, of the sort he usually saved for Fingon or Elrond himself. Suddenly, they were distracted by the sound of a crash. 

Maglor was lying on the dock, holding his head with one hand. He did not look especially surprised by this turn of events. Celeborn was standing over him, shouting something about Doriath. Elrond handed his granddaughter to Maedhros, and made to put himself between his father and his father-in-law. But Finrod got there first. He was stronger than Celeborn, and when Celeborn made to take another step towards Maglor, Finrod grabbed him by his shoulders and held him in place. 

“Get yourself under control,” Finrod snapped. Elrond had never seen the Crown Prince of the Noldor, who was one of the friendliest people he knew, so cold. “There is no place for vengeance here, yours any more so than his. If you were not prepared to make peace, then you should never have set foot on these shores.” 

Celeborn gave him a few choice words on exactly what he thought of ‘making peace’. Eärendil, who had been standing over to the side, went up to Celeborn. “If Elwing and I can make peace- friendship- with the sons of Fëanor, you can at least do the rest of us the courtesy of not beating your daughter’s guest into the ground. Maglor, are you alright?”

Maglor pulled himself up onto his elbows, and gave Eärendil a disbelieving look. “I’ve had worse,” he said, “and in fairness, I probably deserved that. Though I would ask you not to try and hit my brothers. Half of them would hit back, and the other half would tell you to hit them again.”

Before Celeborn could say anything more, he flinched as if he’d been struck, and turned to his wife. He and Galadriel maintained a long, harsh eye contact, speaking without words, until Celeborn turned, and stormed off, an apologetic Galadriel following a half step back. Powerful as they were, Galadriel and her husband had no need for words when they fought.

“What’s happening?” Elladan asked, quite sensibly, as he took in the scene around him. “Who are all these people?”

“Family,” Celebrían said, evasively, and turned her gaze back on Elrohir. “Now, I don’t believe your story was finished. What happened to your wife?”

Elrohir looked down, and Elrond could almost feel the grief emanating off him in waves. “It was winter, and the sickness came on so fast, and I- I promised Iswen that I’d keep Sídhil safe, and-” He broke down again, but this time Elrond crossed the docks and held him tightly. Elrohir was as tall as he was, now, but his sorrow made him shrink away into almost nothing

From over his shoulder, Elrond heard Elladan speak up again. “Valar- you’re Maedhros Fëanorion,” he accused, though his tone was mostly one of awe. 

“I am,” Maedhros said, guiltily. “This is my brother, Maglor, your grandfather Eärendil, and your- great uncle? Finrod Felagund.” Presumably, this had come with some kind of gesture, since Elladan didn’t ask which was which. 

“It’s an honour,” Elladan said, to one of the crowd on the dock. “Truly. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“I can’t imagine any of it was good,” Maedhros said, and Elrond loosened his grip on Elrohir to turn and stare at his other son. Elladan was smiling at Maedhros, quite openly.

Elladan shrugged, and crossed the dock to shake hands with Maglor and Eärendil. “In truth, it was all bad from most quarters, and little at all from my father, until we read a journal he’d written for us about growing up with the two of you.”

Elrond, remembering the journal in question, flushed quite red. Elrohir, who pulled back to dry his tears, laughed at his expression. 

The journal had been one of Elrond’s madder endeavours. When the twins were young, he’d been struck often by memories of Elros, and their shared childhood. In one of these bouts with memory, he had realized that should anything ever happen to him, nobody would be able to tell Elrohir and Elladan about their family. It had begun as more a history, and had quickly devolved into Elrond’s personal telling of his youth. As the twins had grown older, Elrond had not in fact spoken much about his own childhood, fearing that the twins would make enemies of the many people of Doriath and Sirion who followed Elrond, as the son of Elwing and Eärendil. It had all just been too complicated. He supposed that he must have left the book in a drawer somewhere, and the twins had discovered it in the time they had been left to rule. 

“Well, that’s liable to be much more flattering than most historical accounts of us,” Maglor half-joked. “We’ve heard a great deal of you too, from both your parents.”

Maedhros handed Sídhil back to her uncle, and Elladan hoisted her with the look of some who’d had a good deal of practice. It was a strange sight, but not an unwelcome one. Sídhil. Not a name Elrond himself might have chosen, but a good one. Hope. Given the circumstance of her birth, perhaps it was the name she needed. 

“I had not known what happened to that volume,” Elrond told his sons. “I suppose better that you found it than some others. It was, after all, written for you.”

Elrohir shook his head ruefully. “Would that we had found it ourselves. As it happens, poor Erestor stumbled across it when he was going through your desk for some misplaced trade deals with the Greenwood. Quite a shock for him.”

“Oh dear,” Celebrían muttered. She knew as well as Elrond did that Erestor had been at the Havens of Sirion. Speaking of, where was Erestor?

“He’s quite alright,” Eärendil interjected, as though reading Elrond’s mind, “he and Glorfindel are planning to travel, see some of their old friends. I think they left to give you privacy, not because either of them are upset. But Glorfindel told me where to find them if I’d like to talk, so I’m sure he won’t mind me passing on that information.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” Elrond told him, “I would have liked to tell him and some of the others myself, rather than have my love for my fathers be a dirty secret whispered in shadowy corners.”

Elrohir, who had dried his tears some, crossed the dock to shake hands with his newly-encountered grandparents and Finrod. Then, to Elrond’s significant surprise, Maedhros drew him away, to hold a whispered conversation away from prying ears. 

“I suppose of all of us, Maedhros may be the best qualified for this,” Eärendil said. When everyone turned to look at him, he added, “of all of us, Maedhros has probably the best understanding of what it is to lose love and hope in one fell swoop. Just because his story has a happy ending, doesn’t mean it seemed like it would.”

Maglor nodded. “Quite right. I remember- if any of you tell Fingon this, I will be forced to seek terrible vengeance, possibly in the form of a ballad- after Fingon died, Maedhros didn’t eat for almost a week. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as sure of anything since as I was that he would fade then. But he didn’t. Maedhros is, quite possibly, the strongest person I know.”

Some ways away, Elrond watched as Maedhros placed a tender hand on Elrohir’s shoulder. Though he could not hear, he saw Elrohir look down, and notice Maedhros’s wedding band. He imagined that Maedhros was talking about Fingon. With that tender look in his face, what else could it be? 

Elladan continued speaking to his family, joking with Maglor, Finrod and Eärendil, until Elrohir and Maedhros returned. Elrond and Celebrían stood to the side, and watched their families collide. All that was left to do was introduce the twins to Gil-galad, Celebrimbor, Fingon, and some more extended members of the family. Nerdanel would come down soon enough, once everything had settled down, and there would be a time and a place for Elwing, for Nimloth, Dior, and Idril, and the rest of the family. Elrond spent a moment, imagining these reunions, until he was jerked to attention by the touch of Maedhros’s mind on his. 

Maedhros’s message was simple enough. A classic ‘we need to talk,’ communicated in the form of the idea of the pair of them, and talking. He brought Elrohir back to the main group, and everyone grabbed what boxes and bags were left on the ship, tied them to horses, and began the assent home. 

“What is it?” Elrond asked, the second he was able to get Maedhros alone. They were leading the way up, each of them half paying attention to guiding a horse. With these sort of steeds, it was barely necessary to guide them.

Maedhros looked him dead in the eye, and Elrond could read something like shame in his face. “I’m going to ask this because I’ve always tried to be honest with you, and I know nobody else will, even though we’re all thinking it. Does she have the choice? Or is being on these shores enough to make it for her. Either alternative is awful.”

Elrond flinched back from Maedhros’s words as if he’d been struck, and immediately regretted it when he saw how appalled Maedhros looked to have hurt him. In truth, the question itself was not awful. It had needed to be asked, but the implications were horrifying. Either Sídhil, that sweet, innocent, sleeping babe, had the gift of men within her, and would one day be forced to choose between this, her father and everyone who she would remember into adulthood, or her mother, her heritage, and that greatest adventure. Or worse, she had been robbed of the choice entirely. For Elrond, it had always been his desire to choose the path of elves, but for Elros, having that chosen for him would have been a death in itself. The death of hope, of dreams, of emotion and freedom. But on the other hand, if Sídhil had the choice, and chose the gift of men, it would destroy Elrohir; Elrond could feel it. 

Maedhros squeezed Elrond’s free hand once in his own, tightly, and then let him be. “What did you say to Elrohir?” Elrond asked him, more to get out of his own head than for the answer itself. 

Maedhros looked at the dirt. “I told him that doing what he’s doing, that living, is the hardest thing in Arda. Then I told him that people always say that you have to be strong for your family, or that it gets easier. I said that it does get easier, but you don’t have to be strong for your family, you have to allow your family to be there for you even when you’re weak. And of course, I said that raising you and Elros was the best thing I ever did, that children are a blessing, and no matter how hard it feels, he has to allow Sídhil into his heart.”

“I see,” Elrond murmured. He had assumed Maedhros had spoken of Fingon, and was deeply touched by the truth of Maedhros’s statement. 

“He’ll survive, given time, and may even come to thrive and find happiness,” Maedhros told Elrond. “He’s strong.”

“What makes you say that?” Elrond asked. It was not as though Maedhros and Elrohir knew one another well. 

Maedhros gave him a slight smile. “He’s your son, and Celebrían’s. There’s strength in his very nature. You’re survivors, the lot of you.”

Maedhros was as well, but he didn’t need Elrond to tell him that. That was Fingon’s job. They both turned around when they heard the sound of a small child crying. Sídhil was awake. Elrohir calmed her with remarkably swift practice, and she began to babble, as very small children do, in a mix of gibberish and real words. She spoke more like a human child, in Westron, and with gibberish that could have been words in Westron had anyone ever thought to invent them. Elrohir conducted a second set of introductions, allowing Sídhil to meet each of her grandparents, great-grandparents and Finrod in turn. Predictably, she took an immediate shine to Maedhros. When brought close enough, she grabbed one of his braids tightly and refused to let go. Maedhros laughed, and took her from Elrohir so that she could yank his hair to heart’s content. 

There were people who had the gift of being naturally likable to children. Elrond was not one of them. Even his own children, Estel included, had generally preferred the company of others. Celebrían, Galadriel, and Glorfindel had been most popular with, respectively, the twins, Arwen, and Estel. Not that Elrond had not been close with them, but it was by no means a natural talent. Maedhros, on the other hand, had the gift in spades. Even at his worst, he had been of great charisma, and difficult to truly dislike. This was more than evidenced by Elros, who had put in a great deal of effort to trying to dislike Maedhros. 

“Mae!” Exclaimed Sídhil. “Mae, Mae, Mae.”

Maedhros laughed, which Sídhil found highly exciting. Maglor, who had come up from the back of the line, said, “When we were little, we all called him Nelyo, because Maitimo was too difficult to say. It seems that after an epessë or a dozen, he still doesn’t have any that are easier for children to say.”

“Not entirely true,” Maedhros corrected, “Caranthir always called me Russo for Russandol. And Curufin usually just called me a pain in his-” he cut off, for Sídhil’s sake. 

“Elros was a show off,” Elrond said, “He could always pronounce everyone’s full name.”

Maglor shook his head. “But not well. I was Meg-lor for about three months.”

The conversation continued in this vein, jokes and memories, and general cooing over Sídhil, until the party arrived home. Celebrían had skipped the conversation, making plans and notes to once again accommodate an unexpected guest. Finrod and Maedhros both agreed to speak to the extended family about seeing if anyone had toys or other things Sídhil might want lying around. It had been a very long time, but then again, the Noldor had natural tendencies to horde, and half of them had been gone for all of the first and seconds ages at least, and therefore unable to ever clear out any of their stuff. Additionally, as Finrod pointed out, Finarfin had been hoping one of his children would have more children for years, and probably had kept a goodly amount of hand-me-downs just in case. Finrod himself was thinking about children with him wife, Amarië, but Sídhil was here and now, and he said he didn’t mind.

“Thank you,” Elrohir whispered to Maedhros, as they arrived. Elrond only barely caught it, he spoke so low. 

Maedhros gave him the same smile he had given Sídhil earlier. “You’re family. You don’t need to thank me. It’s my honor.”

“Family,” Elrohir repeated, as though tasting the word. “Yes, that’s right.”

\--

“You must be thinking it too,” Maedhros said to Eärendil, and handed their shared great-granddaughter the block she was reaching for. Sídhil smiled at him serenely, and then threw the block half way across the room. 

“Thinking what?” Eärendil asked, and retrieved the block from where it had landed under a table. 

Maedhros, unwilling to voice his concerns, touched his ear, and then gave a meaningful look to Sídhil, whose ears were quite notably rounded for one of the Quendi. Eärendil mirrored the gesture, reaching up to touch the tip of his own pointed ear, before a look of understanding flashed across his face. 

“I’ve been thinking of it,” he admitted to Maedhros, “how could I not be? Do you think the others are as well?”

Maedhros shrugged. “Elrond is, at least, because I told him my fears. Still, you’re the expert in this matter. I’d like to know your opinion.”

Eärendil ran a hand through his golden hair, and grimaced slightly. “I checked over the family records and consulted with Elwing yesterday. It’s- there’s never been one of us quite like her.”

“How so?”

“Well,” Eärendil said, “look at the lines of our family. Dior and Nimloth were both elves, though Dior by choice, and lived and had children as elves. But their children had the choice. We suspect that their sons chose the fate of men, but regardless they had no children so that doesn’t matter. Elwing and I hadn’t made our choice when we had children, but we were both half elven- of course Elros and Elrond took after us. And then Elrond, Elros and Arwen all made the choice before having any children. But Elrond’s children were still considered Peredhel, and Elros’s and Arwen’s were not. That suggests that the tendency towards the gift of men is stronger. So, for the half-mortal child of Elrohir, who had not chosen…”

This possibility hadn’t crossed Maedhros’s mind. “You think she might have no choice other than the gift of men.” 

Eärendil nodded. “Yes, I do. What were you worried about?”

“I worried that her choice would have been taken from her by being brought here. Or that she still had the choice, and would be forced to choose between the mother she won’t remember and the father who didn’t choose to unite their family. Any option really seems bad, though I have to admit in this matter you may actually have been more pessimistic than I. And that’s saying something.”

Eärendil passed another block to the innocent child in front of him. She placed it very carefully on top of her first block, and then knocked over the tiny tower, laughing gleefully. 

“She takes after your side of the family,” Eärendil deadpanned. Maedhros, who rarely heard his stellar friend crack dark jokes, laughed in surprise.

“’Twas Luthien who was famed for bringing down a tower. Let that be her inheritance.”

Eärendil’s face darkened. “Let nobody ever compare her to Luthien. Let that be her inheritance.”

“Aye,” Maedhros said. “That, and her mother’s courage, and her father’s determination.”

They looked at one another, and then down at Sídhil. Eärendil, with all the gravitas of his power and lineage, said, “those, and nothing more.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I think we should ask the Valar about Sídhil,” Fingon said, thereby calling the unofficial council into session. 

Around Maedhros’s dining room table sat a crowd of Finwëans, in-laws and other interested parties. Fingon and Maedhros, Elwing and Eärendil, Idril, Nimloth, Galadriel, Celeborn, and, for some reason, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. 

“I think someone else should ask the Valar about Sídhil,” Maedhros corrected. “I fancy that you and I have spent all our favours.”

Nimloth, a woman who Maedhros knew almost nothing about, save the circumstances of her death, shook her head. “What do the Valar know of this? It is not as though they know what happened to my sons, or if they do, they will not share it with me.”

Maedhros looked down to avoid meeting her eyes. Nimloth was fierce, with pale silver hair and a stern face. Dressed as she was in riding gear, she bore a more than passing resemblance to Celegorm, which was unnerving indeed. The vast majority of elves living in Aman bore no scars or wounds, but Nimloth had thin cut above her eyebrow. When Fingon had asked her about it earlier, she’d explained it was from falling on some stairs as a child, and she didn’t even remember who she was before she’d gotten it.

“That’s true enough,” agreed Elwing, sitting at her mother’s side. “They answered little of Eärendil and my questions as well, over the years, on the matter of Elrond and Elros.”

“Speaking of, does Elrond actually know we’re having this meeting without him?” The Balrog Slayer of Gondolin asked. Maedhros liked him. 

Nimloth shook her head again. “No. Him and Celebrían have enough to deal with as is. We’ll tell them if we even learn anything. Now, is everyone actually here who is planning to be here?”

There was a quick headcount conducted by Fingon. “We’re still missing Finrod, Nerdanel, and Turgon if they’re coming.”

It was deduced from there that Finrod was on his way, though late, but Nerdanel and Turgon were probably not coming. 

“What if we were all to petition the Valar together, maybe bring the rest of the family?” Idril asked the room at large

“I don’t think that large numbers are the way to go,” Maedhros told her, “better a small number of those with more good will. Eärendil, yourself and your father, Elrond, Finrod and Lord Glorfindel, if you’d be willing.”

Idril gave Maedhros a quelling stare. Sometimes it was hard to see that she was Turgon’s daughter, but at other times it was impossible to forget. “It should be all of us, because it’s easy to ignore one Finwëan, but impossible to ignore all of us. It should be all of us, because the Valar aren’t going to forget that you’re a part of this even if you’re not literally standing there. It should be all of us because, unless you’ve forgotten, Elrond calls himself your son. If you bear any love for him, you would stand for him.”

In the silence that followed this impassioned speech, the strange crowd regarded one another. Elwing and her mother, though they had different colouring, were very alike in face and body. Idril, since the death of her husband some years before, wore black, but every year, more flashes of colour appeared. Today, it was a vibrant green scarf. Glorfindel of the Golden Flower was living up to the name of his house. Even with Galadriel and Eärendil in the room, the Balrog Slayer shone with a power that was clear to see. Power in elvenkind was largely a matter of lineage and date of birth. Fëanor, of course, was undisputed in his status as the greatest of the Noldor, but that didn’t mean that the rest of them were anything to shake a stick at. The house of Finarfin had more than proven their mettle in Beleriend, though, in Maedhros’s not-unbiased eyes, it was in the house of Fingolfin where true greatness lay. But all of these lines still had the blood of Finwë, and their members were mostly born in the years of the trees, which was why it was so surprising to see Glorfindel of Gondolin holding his own, power wise, with the best of them. 

Glorfindel caught Maedhros looking at him, and met his eyes. “Speak, Fëanorion,” he said, “I can practically hear you thinking.”

That expression, which Maedhros had heard before and knew to be a literal translation from Westron, really did not work as well when surrounded by some of history’s most powerful elves. “Were you always as powerful as you are now?” Maedhros asked. 

To Maedhros’s significant surprise, Glorfindel shook his head. “By the grace of the Valar, I was… empowered upon my return, to fulfil that quest which was laid before me. It begun fading when the enemy was defeated, as I no longer had need of the gift. But it’s been taking its time, as you can plainly see. Now I am on these shores, it is beginning in force.”

Maedhros nodded, and Galadriel tapped the table with one long fingernail. “I don’t think asking the Valar will be productive. Perhaps some of the more powerful among us might be able to discover the truth by examining Sídhil. It was not unclear when Arwen made her choice which people she was being counted under. Has anyone actually tried looking at Sídhil to find out?”

“I have,” Eärendil replied, “It’s clear to me that she’s at least in part mortal. But one only needs to look at her to deduce that. Furthermore-“

Before Eärendil could finish, Finrod burst in, Elrond at his heels. Galadriel pinched the bridge of her nose and said, “Finrod, what was the one thing I told you not to do when I asked you to show up to this meeting?”

“Tell Elrond.” Finrod offered Elrond the seat to Maedhros’s right, while he himself sat between Glorfindel and Nimloth. “But it’s not as though I ever listened to you much, did I? You are my younger sister.”

Elrond leant in close to Maedhros and whispered, “I’m very upset with all of you, and when I’m done being profoundly touched by how much all of you care, I’m probably going to do some yelling about it.”

“Fair enough, but this burden doesn’t have to be yours to carry alone,” Maedhros told him. 

Fingon recounted the discussion as it had occurred for Finrod and Elrond, and then sat back to allow the meeting to continue from where it had left off. 

“What if we were to petition one of the Valar, not all of them at once?” Idril asked, mostly directing the question at Maedhros. 

“Better than all of them at once, but who?”

“Námo,” said Nimloth, at the same time as Glorfindel and Idril said, respectively, “Manwë” and “Aulë”

“One at a time,” Fingon told them. “Nimloth, you first. Then Glorfindel and Idril.”

Nimloth was quick to reply, “He’s most likely to actually know the answer. No point in asking if we ask someone who won’t be able to tell us anything.”

Glorfindel took more time to think about it. “Perhaps I should not have spoken so hastily as I did. But Manwë has always done well by me, and if he consented to help us, then his brothers and sisters would fall in line. If any of them knew, they would tell us at his request. Still, could we persuade him? I don’t know. Though I am sure would could not persuade Námo.”

All eyes turned to Idril. She pulled herself up to her full height, which . “Admit it- Aulë has always been fond of your part of the family.” Here, she gestured vaguely towards Maedhros and Elrond. “And of all the Valar, he is one who has taken great interest in the lives of Eru’s children, as well as his own. He still teaches Noldo smiths, you know, despite everything.”

“Despite everything,” Elwing muttered. Elrond shot her a quelling look. Maedhros could find no offence. It was true enough. 

“I’m convinced on the matter of Aulë.” Maedhros announced. “Of the Valar, he may be among the most generous and kind of heart.”

Elrond cleared his throat, and the room turned to him. “What about Ulmo?” He asked, clearly expecting the room to make a connection that Maedhros missed.

Eärendil made the connection. “Aye, he must know something. That ship was far too delayed given the winds. I arrived not a half hour before we spotted Elladan and Elrohir’s ship on the horizon, and the winds were quite favourable to me.”

Galadriel made a thoughtful noise. “True enough. Not to mention his affinity for your part of the family. Perhaps it would be prudent to speak to both, divide into two groups. One to Aulë, one to Ulmo.”

“Fëanor’s house to Aulë, Fingolfin and Finarfin’s to Ulmo?” Nimloth asked Galadriel.

Elrond shook his head. “Send Maglor to Ulmo, if we’re dividing people who aren’t here as well.”

That was reasonable, of course. Maglor had given his silmaril to Ulmo, throwing it into the sea. And he had little in common with Aulë, who favoured craftsmen. Most of Maedhros’s brothers weren’t true craftsmen in the way their father was, but Maglor was actively other. He had a craft, but it was that of music, not that of stone or metal, gems or wood. Even Maedhros and Caranthir would, if pressed, probably have admitted some passing familiarity with creating physical things. 

“I propose this allotment,” Maedhros announced. “Fingon, I, Celebrimbor, Gil-galad and Curufin, Idril, Elladan, my mother, and Elrond to Aulë. Maglor, Elwing and Eärendil, Finrod, Galadriel and Celeborn, Elrohir, Celebrían and Nimloth to Ulmo. And then any others where they are best suited.”

The room nodded, save for Glorfindel, who asked, “what about me?”

Idril was quick to answer. “You’ll come with me, to save me from being trapped in the clutches of Fëanor’s house and their spouses.” At a look from Elrond, she added, “Oh come, I know you don’t mean any harm, but it’s not exactly my top choice of company, is it?”

Celeborn, who had not said a word all meeting, finally spoke. “I find that solution agreeable enough. Though I’ll not hide my surprise at this crowd. Do you really gather in peace, the lot of you?”

Elwing nodded. “Rarely enough, but it is as I believe my husband told you. On these shores, we strive to bear no grudges, to take no revenge, to make peace with our enemies. It is not easy, but, well, what is worth doing in life that is easy? You’re not required to like everyone, but in times like this, when we need to rely on those around us, who better than this?” She gestured to the room at large, even Maedhros. “Old friends, new friends, family. I may not like all of them. But take Maedhros.” Maedhros met her eyes. “Do I like Maedhros? Not especially. We’re not about to start gossiping over tea like old maids. But I trust him, with more than my life. I trust him with my son.”

Elrond, Maedhros, and Eärendil all gaped at her. Elwing was an uncommon presence in Maedhros’s life. It was, to paraphrase the woman herself, safe to say that they were not friends. Unlike Eärendil, Elwing did not forgive, and she did not forget. After what she had lost, not just in the Havens of Sirion, but also at Doriath, Maedhros had nothing but sympathy for this position. Now, though, to hear her preaching forgiveness made him reconsider their years of interactions. For though Elwing had been cold, had avoided Maedhros, she had never once spoken harshly to him. Even Elrond, after he made clear his position on Maedhros, heard nothing from her on the matter. But she gave them no grief, took no suit against Maedhros, and for one such as Elwing, perhaps such a thing was generosity. Maedhros thought of his own years of hard words about Elwing, and felt his cheeks burn with shame. 

Maedhros cleared his throat, and felt his cheeks grow redder still to match his hair as the room turned to him. “And, for what it’s worth, though we have never been friends, I was relieved to see Elwing here today, because I knew that she shared my fears, my worries, and my hopes. I have asked things of her that I could not ask of my closest friends, and despite our enmity, she has delivered.” To Maedhros’s great satisfaction, Elwing blushed. 

Celeborn gave them both an odd look, but said, “I think I understand.”

There was a long silence, ended when Fingon clapped his hands together and declared, “Meeting adjourned.”

\--

Aulë, called Mahal, creator of dwarves and master smith, looked up at the party of Elves before him. He wore the form of one of his children, with a long white beard in elegant braids. His lady wife, Yavanna, sat beside him. Unlike her husband, whose chair was simple, she sat in a throne, woven from living tree branches just burst into bloom. She wore a form that consisted of an impossibly tall brown-skinned Quendi woman with willow branches for hair. Of the two, she was by far the more intimidating. Elrond had heard much of Aulë in his childhood, for of the Valar, it was he who the sons of Fëanor had known best (save Celegorm, who had ridden with Oromë). Besides, it was hard to find anyone intimidating who greeted Nerdanel like a favoured niece. 

“My lord Aulë,” Elrond began, only to immediately be cut off by the lord in question. 

“Curufinwë, son of Curufinwë, how do you fare? You never seem to come work with us anymore.”

Curufin, to his credit, did not so much as blink before sweeping into the sort of graceful bow that was befitting of a prince. “My lord Aulë, I fare well indeed. May I present my son, Celebrimbor, and his husband Ereinion Gil-galad, who was High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth.”

“Celebrimbor! Now, there’s a lad who belongs in these forges. You were a friend to my children, were you not?”

Celebrimbor bowed deeply, dragging Gil-galad down with him. “My lord, I was a friend to the Dwarves.” Here, he unleashed a stream of Khuzdul in which Elrond caught only a single word that he recognized. ‘Narvi’. Then, continuing in Quenya, he added, “However, my lord, if you’ll forgive my saying so, the teachings of the Ainur have not served me well in the past.”

Elrond winced, and there was an awful silence before Aulë barked a deep laugh, like the earth itself was rumbling. At a harsh look from his wife, the smith straightened. “For the ills done to you by he who was my student, I can do nothing but beg your forgiveness. If you would join those of the Noldor who still study under me, I would be honoured. But I will more than understand if you do not.”

Celebrimbor nodded his head graciously, and Yavanna spoke up. “My husband, I believe these Children of Eru have a matter of some import to bring before you. Is that not so, Elladan Elrondion?”

Elladan flinched under the watchful eyes of two of the Valar, understandably. Adressing Aulë’s feet, he began to speak. “My lord Aulë, lady Yavanna, I’ve- we’ve come on behalf of my niece, who is called Sídhil. Her father is my brother, Elrohir, who is of the line of the half-elven, and had not yet made his choice, at the time of her birth. Her mother was a mortal woman. Sídhil resides now on these shores, but we find that not even the wisest of the Quendi know if she shall be counted among elvenkind or as a man.”

“And you’re asking us if we know.” Aulë stroked his beard with one calloused hand. “Why us, of all the Valar?”

Elladan looked ill at the prospect of having to be questioned by Aulë more than once, so Elrond answered in his son’s place. “My lord Aulë, I admit it may seem unconventional. Indeed, Elrohir and some of our other kin have gone to speak to Lord Ulmo, but we believed it reasonable to speak to you. For of all your kin, you have been one of the greatest friends to mine, and indeed for the love and compassion you have shown your own children, you are renowned.”

Yavanna said, “You found Namo too intimidating and Manwë too distant.”

There was a long pause, and then she, her husband, and, to everyone’s great surprise, Nerdanel, began to laugh. 

“Come now,” Aulë exclaimed through his laughter, “you cannot possibly think I do not know my kin. Just because they are family does not mean I do not know them. You of all people ought to know how family can be.”

Curufin muttered something about siblings who were ‘too intimidating’ and ‘too distant’ that made Maedhros give him a half shove.

Yavanna smiled at them, her face warming and becoming softer. As she was one of the Valar, her face actually shifted, losing some of its edges. Her hair fell down in black ringlets, and she became shorter, until there was the image of a mortal woman sitting beside her Dwarf of a husband. 

“The crux of the matter is this,” Yavanna said, “How elven is elven enough? It is not within our purview to deny nor offer the Gift of Men to any who are entitled to it. But we are more than able to allow people to delay the choice. As we have learned.”

“Learned?” Elladan asked. It was a fair question. 

“Aye lad,” Aulë told them, “The matter of the half-elven was as surprising to us as it was to your lot, I imagine. Mayhaps more so. Once Melkor had been defeated, and we came to the conclusion that there was a choice, it seemed prudent to make everyone choose. I was against it at the time, but it was not my call. Well, everyone but Dior. He was dead first, but we never gave his path much thought.”

Dior had not attended any of their meetings, having sent Nimloth in his place. Elrond did not see much of any of his grandfathers. Though the gift of men could be much delayed, even the grace of the Valar could not take it forever. Thus, Tuor had passed without Elrond ever knowing him. Fëanor was, well, Fëanor, and Dior was both disinclined to come anywhere near the Sons of Fëanor and not interested enough in Elrond’s life to be tempted in despite that. 

“Eru,” Nerdanel whispered under her breath, and the room turned to look at her. She scanned the crowd. “We’re all idiots. Name the one person who we know chose an immortal path, despite two parents who chose the Gift of Men.”

“Dior,” Maedhros muttered. “We are all idiots. So that means it’s possible then?”

Aulë nodded, beads in his beard clinking slightly. “Aye, possible certainly. Though of course nothing is ever certain, when it comes to the Peredhel.”

“Thank you, Lord Aulë,” Nerdanel said, with a surprising grin on her face. “Lady Yavanna, thank you.”

“No trouble at all dear,” Aulë said, dotingly. “Give my best to your father, of course. How are the rest of those boys of yours?”

“Well, my Lord. They’re doing well.” 

The look on Maedhros’s face was priceless. And it only grew more incredulous as Aulë continued. “Now, Maedhros, lad, I’ve heard you’ve gotten married recently, how was that?”

The conversation continued in this vein, Aulë questioning like he was some kind of estranged relative or nosy old friend, instead of one of the most powerful beings in all of creation. It made a kind of sense, Nerdanel would have known him from childhood, after all, but understanding and seeing were very different things. It was difficult to reconcile this image of a friendly, well-meaning dwarf, with the idea of the hardened Vala who had been considered both the most and the least kin to Melkor. 

“I think,” Glorfindel whispered, having drifted closer to Elrond as the conversation progressed, “That we may have chosen the right one of the Valar to appeal to.”

\--

Ulmo had decided not to present himself in a bodily form today, instead appearing as the sea itself, a rushing tide that defied comprehension in its magnitude. This made appealing to him somewhat more difficult, but Celebrían supposed it could have been worse. He could have not shown up at all. They were standing in the surf, all ten of them. Celebrían tried not to think about the logistics of standing in the Ocean, speaking to Ulmo manifesting as the Ocean. She at least had had the good sense to take her shoes off first. Nimloth had not, and was now trying to untie soaking laces while up to her knees in the sea. After a time, she gave up, and just stood in the ruined shoes. 

“My Lord,” Eärendil said from the head of the delegation, but he did not even say Ulmo’s name before the waves rushed out, and then rushed in again, surrounding Maglor in a swirling tide. Maglor grabbed the side of his head, as if he could hear something very, very loud.

After a moment, Maglor seemed to regain his footing, his pained lessened. He addressed the other nine clearly. “Ulmo bids us greeting.”

“Are you alright?” Finrod asked, wading his way over to Maglor. His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed true concern. “That didn’t look like a friendly greeting.”

Maglor shrugged evenly. “Ulmo and I had some unfinished business. I believe it’s done with, now.”

Finrod, looking unconvinced, grabbed Maglor by the chin, as though looking him dead in the eye allowed Finrod to see into his very soul. Perhaps it did. Finrod was very powerful.

The sea rushed back from them, in a sudden wave. Then, with just as much speed, the water returned, depositing a single figure in their midst. Ulmo had reshaped himself as a figure, neither firstborn nor secondborn, but with the clear outlines of arms and legs. Without so much as asking what the question was, he shook his head mournfully and then pointed at Dior. Then he vanished, sinking back into the waves. Once it became clear he wasn’t going to return any time soon, the party of ten climbed back out of the ocean, and sat on the beach in a circle. 

“So that went well,” Nimloth joked, pulling off her soggy shoes to dig her toes into the sand. 

“A rousing success,” crowed Eärendil, with such comic overconfidence that everyone laughed. Save Elrohir, who laughed at very little, these days. 

“I, personally, have never done anything more successful,” Maglor said. He ran a hand through his hair, filling it with sand. 

“What does it all mean?” Celeborn asked, saying what everyone had been thinking. 

Galadriel shrugged. “No, and Dior. Anything you’d like to tell us, cousin?”

Galadriel (and Celebrían by extension) were in fact some sort of cousins to Dior. But in this case, it’s the more formal, more mannish use of the phrase. As in, all nobility were cousins in their shared nobility. It was a use that had linguistic roots in Westron, though Galadriel had transposed it into Quenya here. 

Dior looked concerned to be the centre of attention. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s that he wants me to do something? Ask alone, maybe? Go somewhere?”

“Too complicated.” Maglor stated, blandly. Everyone turned to look at him. “Ulmo doesn’t do vague. He doesn’t really like things to be complicated. If he wants something done, he’ll say. He likes… patterns, reasons and logics. Rules. Tides and currents that go where they go when they go.”

“Very Teleri of you,” Finrod told him. “But right, I think. Ulmo’s probably trying to actually answer our question.”

Nimloth looked critically at her husband. “It’s simple enough to me. Dior’s a half elf. Something about him or our children.” She looked at Elwing, “Must provide precedent to answer the question.”

Everyone was quiet as the pondered this. Dior had been the first of the half elven to be forced to choose. If he hadn’t died when he had, it would have been a matter for some debate. As it was, Dior had died before an elf would have even come of age. He had made the choice the youngest of any who had been forced to make it (save his sons, but they weren’t here and never would be), and had lived as an elf ever since.

“I’m not,” Dior muttered. Everyone turned to stare at him. He looked at the sand and said, “I’m not a half elf. That’s a… misconception. Melian was my grandmother. I’m only a quarter elven at best. And my mother had already chosen a mortal path before I was born. Depending on how you count it, I’m a quarter-elf, or completely mortal. Eärendil is the only real half-elf.”

This information sank in slowly, and it was Finrod who figured it out first. He pulled Elrohir to his feet, and spun him around in a circle. “Momentous!” He exclaimed. 

Maglor reached out one foot, and tripped Finrod, sending him sprawling into the sand. “Care to clue the rest of us in, Goldie?”

Finrod spat some sand at Maglor, which he deserved, and then explained. “If Dior is actually less elven that Sídhil, and he got the choice, why wouldn’t Sídhil have that at least? But Ulmo shook his head, didn’t he, he seemed disappointed. And he didn’t want Sídhil to arrive on these shores, that’s clear enough. Something upset him, which means-”

“Sídhil’s choice was made for her,” Nimloth said. She gave her husband a halfhearted shove. “Why didn’t you remind us of your mother. We forget, you know.”

It was ridiculous. How could one possibly forget that Dior, who was one of the most objectively beautiful people Celebrían had ever seen, was a quarter Maia. Even now, surrounded by those who had seen the light of the trees, he shone unparalleled. But on the other hand, it was so easy to forget. After all, who could possibly process the fact that her grandfather-in-law was one-quarter diety? Celebrían hadn’t even gotten used to the other one being Fëanor. 

Elrohir, who had said nothing this whole time, burst into sudden tears. He was still standing where Finrod had pulled him. Celebrían got quickly to her feet, and held him close. It said something about this crowd of family they had assembled that nobody asked why he was upset. Eärendil stood as well, and took Elrohir gently from Celebrían. That was good. Of everyone here, Eärendil well knew what both he and Sídhil were going through. 

“Well,” Elwing said, “Now what?”

\--

“Up!” Sídhil commanded. Elrohir lifted her obligingly, and swung her in a wide circle even though she was really too old for such things. Then he put her down again, because she was very heavy.

“We missed you,” Maglor informed him from where he sat under a tree with his harp. They were in the garden, where Sídhil could reliably be found most afternoons she didn’t have lessons. The great advantage of having a large Finwëan extended family was that there was always someone around to babysit. On days like today- Elrohir’s wedding anniversary- it was incalculably valuable.

“Thank you, Maglor.” They’d decided not to call him and Maedhros any variant on grandfather, since they weren’t by any means short on grandparents, and it was a little weird.

“Where are we going, Ada?” Sídhil asked. Elrohir had indeed promised to take her out today, but hadn’t told her where. 

“Somewhere very special, Sídhil. Now remember to thank Cousin Maglor for playing for you.” Cousin worked well for most of the assorted relatives who looked after Sídhil.

Sídhil thanked him, very nicely, for his music, and took Elrohir’s hand as he led her out of the garden. They walked into the forest, Sídhil telling her father all about her day, and a game she was playing in her head, with the total enthusiasm that all young children sometimes have. She looked more elven by the day, as she grew taller and slimmer, her ears and face taking on a pointed quality that those of mortals lacked. 

“How much farther, Ada?” Sídhil asked, tugging at Elrohir’s hand to make him look at her. 

“Just a few more steps now,” he said, and pulled her into the clearing. 

It was a small memorial, with only four stones. One apart, for Elros, the uncle Elrohir had never known. Two together, for Arwen and her husband, and one last, final marker, the smallest of the bunch and made by Elrohir himself. For Iswen. This was the marker in front of which Elrohir and Sídhil stopped. 

“Today, Sídhil, it’s time for me to tell you a very important story.”

“Like cousin Maglor and cousin Caranthir tell important stories? Like the important stories cousin Maedhros talks about?”

“Yes, Sídhil, exactly like that. Someday, your cousins will tell you those stories too. But this is a special story, about your Naneth. Her name was Iswen, and she’s a part of you. Her story goes like this…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written any of the Valar before, so this is new. As are a whole bunch of the extended family in this to me. Nimloth! Idril! 1st Age elf-ladies forever! 
> 
> This chapter was a monster, which ended up having like 4 drafts with various levels of having and not-having Tuor. I settled on the no-Tuor version, but angstily. Sorry guys.

**Author's Note:**

> A note on names: so in this fic, I was finally forced to name some OCs. Sídhil does, as Elrond says, mean hope, and is Sindarin in origin. Iswen is a little more complicated. Because she's from Rohan, I took cues from the source (-wen suffixes occur in Rohan in text). But The average person from Rohan probably doesn't actually speak any elven languages, so while Iswen does have a Quenya meaning (snow maiden), it more likely comes from the Rohirric Isen, which along with being the name of a river, means iron.


End file.
